


Devil's Luck

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Violence, Injury Recovery, Lone Wolf Hanzo Shimada, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning, Van Helsing McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: A chill ran up his spine as he crashed through the tree line. The villagers had told stories about a creature in these woods that ate the hearts of wicked people. Jesse sent up a prayer that those stories were false, or at least that the beast agreed his enemies were more wicked than he was.Roots wound treacherously beneath his feet, forcing him to slow down. His only comfort was that his enemies would have to do the same. He could hear them closing in, though, steadily gaining ground. What’s more, he swore he caught the gleam of moonlight reflected off yellow eyes. Just an animal, he told himself, something curious and hungry that would run at the first sign of trouble.It was difficult to say whether it was instinct or the villagers’ tales that made a tiny voice inside whisper that he was wrong.---Written for the Rising Moon fanzine.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 13
Kudos: 325





	Devil's Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Since I am sometimes asked: you have my blanket permission to podfic, translate or remix my stuff, make fan art, make fanmixes, etc. -- basically anything that qualifies as transformative works! You don't have to ask me. The only thing I do ask is that you share it with me, because I wanna see/hear/read it! 
> 
> What you do not have permission to do is wholesale copy and repost my fic to a different platform, such as a third-party app that profits from free fan labor. If you are reading this on an app like that, I assure you AO3's website on mobile is perfectly robust, allows downloads of fics for offline reading, has a [dark mode skin](https://archiveofourown.org/skins/929), and isn't trying to scam you by offering premium services that change nothing.#
> 
> \--
> 
> This was my piece for the Rising Moon fanzine, a McHanzo werewolf-themed zine! Big thanks to [Loch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochAndLoad) and the rest of the mods for organizing the zine, to [Interrobang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang) for betaing this fic, and to [Sifo](https://twitter.com/RK_Zet) for the [lovely art they drew for this fic](https://twitter.com/RK_Zet/status/1201384646459764736)!

#

Jesse’d been told his whole life he had the devil’s own luck, but some days it was harder to believe than others. While running for his life with half a dozen angry bandits at his heels, for instance.

He would have killed for a horse, but all he had were his own two legs, which nearly collapsed beneath him as he scrambled down a hill. The forest ahead was his safest bet. 

Better the unknown than whatever fate the gang had cooked up for him.

A chill ran up his spine as he crashed through the tree line. The villagers had told stories about a creature in these woods that ate the hearts of wicked people. Jesse sent up a prayer that those stories were false, or at least that the beast agreed his enemies were more wicked than he was.

Roots wound treacherously beneath his feet, forcing him to slow down. His only comfort was that his enemies would have to do the same. He could hear them closing in, though, steadily gaining ground. What’s more, he swore he caught the gleam of moonlight reflected off yellow eyes. Just an animal, he told himself, something curious and hungry that would run at the first sign of trouble. 

It was difficult to say whether it was instinct or the villagers’ tales that made a tiny voice inside whisper that he was wrong. 

A bolt sank into the tree near his head; then gunfire cracked the air. Both missed, but he stumbled from the shock of it. The bowman’s next shot was more successful. It wasn’t a bullet, at least, but his leg spasmed with the pain of it, and his subsequent stumble had his foot twisting in a root. He felt a sharp snap as his ankle gave out beneath him. 

He tried to go on, but it would not bear his weight. Fire coursed through his leg. 

Poison. This was it, then. 

He turned to face his assailants with gun drawn and ready. He would take some of the bastards with him, at least. Leave the creature that haunted this place a feast of wicked men. 

Each bandit was limned in silvery moonlight as pressure grew behind his eye. The poison set his nerves aflame and made his hand shake. His fingers felt numb, but still he raised his gun. 

Three of the attackers reacted quickly enough to find cover in the trees. The other three did not; they crumpled to the ground. 

Jesse’s vision blurred as the remainder drew near, weapons trained on him. He hoped the beast was real. He may have said as much aloud, but it had become difficult to focus. 

As if thinking of the monster had summoned it, something huge dove from the shadows, driving one of the men down with a flash of massive fangs and a sickening wet sound. 

Jesse thought he might have laughed. He thought, too, that he should warn the beast not to eat him: he was poisoned. But his tongue felt too thick and his eyes wouldn’t stay open. 

* * *

The last thing he expected was to wake again. 

More surprising was that he woke somewhere clean, with a roof over his head and a good pillow beneath it. He was nude beneath the quilt, with thick bandages wrapped around his thigh and ankle. An experimental flex of his foot revealed a splint holding his ankle stiff, as well as the pain it produced to move it. 

His things were near, hat and weapons and his pack laid out in a line. His clothing was clean and folded neatly atop his leather outerwear, which had at least been brushed free of any dirt. 

He didn’t get long to wonder about his host before he heard thumping from another room. It took more effort than it should have to shove himself up onto his elbows. 

The person who entered was hidden beneath furs and clothing streaked with rust red stains. Unsettlingly, the dead eyes of a wolf pelt stared at him before the stranger shoved it back to reveal his face. For a man who walked about dressed as he did, he was surprisingly handsome, although his features were stern, and his mouth turned down at the corners as if he was accustomed to frowning. 

He studied Jesse openly, then spoke. It was obviously a question, but asked in a language Jesse did not know. Then he asked very plainly, “Common?”

“I speak it.”

“Good. How do you feel?” His voice was gruff but not unpleasantly so, and shaped by an accent Jesse had not heard often. 

“Thought for sure I’d be dead, and now I’m not, so I’d say that part feels pretty good.”

He received a grunt for that; it was difficult to tell whether the man was amused or simply thoughtful. “Pain?”

“The ankle. Thigh seems alright though.”

“For now. Tell me when it wears off. What else?”

Jesse was not sure how to answer that until he tried to sit up straighter and his head spun again. “Ah, dizzy?”

His host nodded as if he’d expected it. When Jesse had no other symptoms to report, the man left again. With some difficulty and several waves of dizziness, Jesse managed to reach his clothing.

Getting his pants on left him breathless, and he pulled his shirt over his head with shaking hands. 

The man arrived again, this time with a cup of something steaming. “I apologize,” he said. “I would have helped.”

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Jesse wheezed.

The sharp tic of the stranger’s eyebrow gave away his skepticism. He held out the cup to Jesse. “You should drink. For the dizziness.”

“I’d love to, but I kinda got more pressing concerns right now, and I’m afraid a drink’s gonna make it worse.”

The man gave a thoughtful tilt of his head, then he seemed to understand. He disappeared once more to return with two homemade crutches. They were rough hewn, but they were sturdy and wrapped with cloth for a comfortable grip. 

He knelt beside Jesse’s bed, and with some patience and a near spill, they managed to get Jesse onto his good foot. The man was more than sturdy enough to bear Jesse’s weight, but he was not nearly as large as he had seemed from the bedding on the floor. After some wobbling, Jesse managed to get a crutch under each armpit.

Walking backwards with his arms held ready to catch Jesse the moment he stumbled, the man led him through the house and to the door. His swollen and bandaged ankle would not fit into his boot, but he had to hold it aloft to walk anyway. 

Once he had relieved himself outside, Jesse could appreciate the view. The house sat in the middle of verdant woods, the line of trees rapidly thickening beyond the edge of the clearing. There was no path leading to the house and no fence save a short one he suspected might hide a garden. It was beautiful and isolated at once.

He wasn’t sure what to ask first, but he settled on, “It’s just you out here?”

“Yes.”

“That mean you saved me, or did somebody bring me here?” 

“I saved you.” The man averted his eyes; Jesse wondered if it was modesty or something else.

“Then I owe you extra thanks. Name’s McCree. Or Jesse, if you’d prefer.” 

“Hanzo. Come, before you collapse.”

Jesse wanted to protest, but he was breathless again from only this, so he returned to the house, and he drank the foul tea Hanzo gave him, and he slept.

When he next awoke, it was to a stomach cramped with hunger. The light filtering in through the window was bright and cheery, and he could smell something cooking, for which he was truly grateful. Hanzo had placed a chair next to his pallet and propped the crutches against it. With the chair for balance, Jesse managed to pull himself up and onto the crutches alone. 

He found Hanzo in the main room of the house, crouched over the sunken hearth. As Jesse drew closer, the smell of the food made his stomach grumble. Hanzo gave up a quick bark of a laugh. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said without turning his head.

“That loud, huh?”

“Yes.” He dropped the lid onto the pot, then he turned to Jesse. “Lunch will be ready soon. You should sit.”

Jesse sank gratefully into one of the mismatched chairs. He was not as winded as he had been last time, but moving about still took more effort than it should. 

As Hanzo prepared their food and a pot of tea, Jesse observed him without interruption, admiring the distinguished gray streaking the otherwise uniform blackness of his hair. The beard that lined his jaw was much tidier than Jesse’s, so evenly trimmed that it suggested either a professional barber or some tedious ritual in front of a mirror. 

A strange, swirling red tattoo crawled from one wrist up a densely muscled arm, disappearing under his short sleeve. It was as intriguing as Hanzo’s apparent solitude.

Lunch was a bowl full of something like a stew, which Hanzo deposited in front of Jesse along with a handful of utensils — spoons and forks of various shapes and sizes, and chopsticks like those Hanzo used. Tersely, he explained that Jesse was not the first traveler here. 

Hanzo relaxed over the food, though, and he tolerated Jesse’s curiosity enough to answer his questions. 

Jesse had slept well into the afternoon the first time. The poison had been a blessing in a way; it had kept him too delirious to register the pain of removing the crossbow bolt from his thigh. The second time, Jesse had slept for nearly an entire day. Hanzo had dressed his wounds and had gotten him to swallow the tea he had used to fight the poison.

“Are you a healer?”

Hanzo snorted. “Hardly.” Instead, previous guests had left the tea. When pressed on what he _did_ with his time, Hanzo declared himself a hunter. He took furs and cured meats into the nearby village in exchange for what goods he could not produce for himself.

“A hunter. Did you kill that wolf, then?”

Hanzo paused to look at him, a wariness weighing his shoulders down. “When I arrived, there were only you and me and six dead men.”

* * *

Hanzo estimated Jesse’s ankle would not be able to bear weight for several days, but with an injured thigh and weakened muscles, it could take longer. He muttered again that he was not a healer, but Jesse had no one else to ask. In the meantime, Jesse slept more than he had in ages, drugged by the tea and his body’s war with the poison’s lingering effects. 

He grew more efficient with the crutches, but not so efficient he felt especially helpful with all the tasks required to maintain the house and feed them. But anything Jesse could do while sitting or leaning, he volunteered. He was not in the habit of exploiting someone’s hospitality, nor of sitting still for so long. 

When he ran out of ways to be useful, Jesse read. There were plenty of books, many in languages Jesse was certain Hanzo couldn’t read. Jesse asked about them; it seemed that Hanzo’s houseguests tended to be grateful for the help he provided, and in turn he accepted gifts that might be useful for the next wayward traveler. It explained not only the utensils and books and the stranger herbs and teas, but the mismatched furniture and curious trinkets arranged carefully on the shelves. Jesse was no appraiser of these things, but they appeared to come from all over, just like the languages on the spines of Hanzo’s books.

Even with things to read and to occupy his hands, the hours stretched too long. Idleness led him to watch Hanzo, whose every motion was as economical as his words. It was difficult not to admire the muscles in his arms or the way the red tattoo seemed to slide sinuously over them. He seemed to grow more beautiful the longer Jesse looked.

Jesse was willing to blame the tea’s side effects for how enamored he had become in such a short time. Hanzo displayed no such problems; he remained gruff and serious, as though his hospitality was something he tried very hard not to begrudge his guest. Even when he helped Jesse into and out of the bath, he seemed more concerned with Jesse’s modesty than his own. 

The days passed slowly in a cycle of reading, chopping vegetables, and performing a set of ankle exercises Hanzo insisted upon. Jesse did his best to think of it as peaceful, but eventually he had to concede that it was _boring_. He’d been on the move his whole life. Even when he had lost his arm, he’d had more to do than this. 

Hanzo must have sensed his restlessness. After cleaning up their dinner one evening, rather than leave Jesse to read, Hanzo returned with a box that rattled when he set it down. 

“Do you know _go_? It is a game.”

“Friend of mine tried to teach me once. Not sure he knew much of what he was doin’ either though.”

Hanzo’s mouth curved in a half smile, although his gaze was focused well beyond the box under his hands. “I have others. Not many. Chess?” 

“That’s more familiar.” Hanzo rearranged some of the items until he could pull the chessboard free. 

Hanzo handily won the first game, but Jesse’d never been a sore loser long as there was no money on the line. Besides, he was grateful to Hanzo for offering some solution to the boredom. 

“Better with cards and dice if I’m bein’ honest,” Jesse said as they set up for a second game. 

“A gambling man,” Hanzo said with a small smile. 

“Always.” 

“A soldier?”

“Long time ago. Soldier of fortune, these days.”

Hanzo nodded and fell quiet again, but Jesse drew a few more smiles out of him before they were finished. 

They played again the following night, and Hanzo let slip he’d been born into a wealthy family. Jesse told him a story of the time he’d been hired ostensibly as a family bodyguard and ended up babysitter and playmate to a seven-year-old. What he didn’t say was that the whole job had been a cover for him to steal and return several magic artifacts to their rightful owners, but Hanzo didn’t ask, and neither did he share what had led him from status and comfort to his present solitary life.

It gave Jesse something to puzzle over during the day, before Hanzo inevitably brought out the box of games. Hanzo taught him _go_ — Jesse had been correct to assume he’d been taught very badly the first time around — and Jesse taught him a few sleight of hand tricks and how to cheat at cards. He also learned how to make Hanzo laugh. It was rough and grating as though rusty with disuse, and Jesse quickly grew fond of hearing it. 

What little Hanzo would say about his past was riddled with holes, but Jesse didn’t mind that so much. He had his own stories he didn’t tell. He was well-practiced at redirecting attention, embellishing the good parts so nobody looked too closely at the things he didn’t say. Just more sleight of hand. At least Hanzo’s silences were honest.

“Okay,” Jesse grumbled one night, watching Hanzo put his queen in check again. “I think you’re cheatin’.”

“At chess?”

“You’re takin’ advantage of a feeble man.”

“I was unaware your brain was located in your ankle.”

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of it livin’ below the belt, but the _ankle_ ’s a new one.” 

Hanzo snorted, and Jesse liked to think the glint in his eye was more than a trick of the light. “You should try putting weight on it tomorrow.”

“You think?”

“I will need to go into the village soon. It would be a good time to take you so you can be on your way.”

Jesse should have been relieved. He had work to get back to, a package to deliver, some bad guys to thwart. It wasn’t like he could make a life staying in one place, and he’d wear out his welcome here eventually. But a small part of him seized with disappointment. 

In the morning Hanzo took him to the small garden where the ground was flattest. With Hanzo’s help, Jesse walked until his ankle was too sore to continue.

Hanzo seemed very proud, and his too-rare smile was enough to make Jesse want to try harder — recover faster — if it meant he could see it more. The feeling clashed with his hesitation to leave; it unbalanced him more than relearning to walk.

He tried again after lunch, then before and after dinner. It was more stable than he had expected, although Hanzo did not seem to believe he was ready to discard the brace. 

This evening Hanzo returned to the table with a bottle of whiskey. “To celebrate,” he explained as he poured. “Only a little, though. I don’t want to have to carry you later.”

Jesse’s laugh stuttered, distracted by the size of Hanzo’s arms and the thought that he _could_ haul Jesse around. He took a bracing sip.

Conversation flowed easily into a contemplative silence. Hanzo held his cup halfway to his face, and Jesse caught himself staring at the thick fingers wrapped around the ceramic, at his powerful wrist with its strange red markings. At the edge of the cup where it touched the cushion of his bottom lip.

Determined to distract himself, Jesse said, “I’ve been meaning to ask. What brought you here? To this life?” 

Hanzo’s permanent frown deepened before he was able to school his features. “I thought you might ask eventually.” 

Jesse knew the signs of someone torn between competing desires for privacy and honesty. Curiosity swelled even as Jesse said, “You don’t have to answer. I’m just bein’ nosy.”

Hanzo sighed and his chair seemed to do the same, creaking beneath his shifting weight. “It’s not a secret, only a difficult subject.” Before Jesse could interrupt to reassure him, he went on. “Long ago, I did something I should not have. I thought at the time that I was only doing my duty. But once the act was complete, I knew it was wrong. I think I knew before that, but I didn’t wish to admit it.” He breathed deeply. “I cannot undo it.”

An unspoken _but_ hung in the air, yet he stopped there. Jesse didn’t know Hanzo well, but he could see the picture forming. Hanzo lived in solitude. He helped travelers, so often that his home was filled with gifts left to replace the payment he would not take. “This is penance,” Jesse said. Hanzo gave the barest nod. “How long?”

“I moved from one place to another for a year or two, looking for a way to assuage the guilt for what I had done. A way to grieve, even though I lost that right. I arrived _here_ seven years ago.”

Given the settled state of his home, it should not have been as surprising as it was. “You’ve been alone all this time?”

“Not alone. I have visitors.” 

“But no _friends_? No—” Jesse bit back the rest. “I can’t think of many crimes that’d earn you a sentence that long. You’ve spent seven years either alone or helpin’ people. Surely you’ve done your time.” Hanzo’s wry smile barely reached his eyes. “I’m sorry, maybe it ain’t my call.”

“I appreciate it. You are a kind man, Jesse.” His voice was rough and quiet. For the barest moment, Jesse saw the flash of longing in his eyes. Maybe Hanzo was just lonely, or maybe he wanted Jesse especially, someone to make him laugh and help him in the kitchen and play _go_ with him in the evenings. In any case, Jesse wanted _him_ , regardless of his past. 

“Maybe I got ulterior motives for tryin’ to be nice to you.”

Hanzo took a short, shallow breath like he was surprised, his eyes locked on Jesse’s. The table was small, and they were already leaning toward one another. Jesse could feel inevitability in the air like the pressure change before rainfall. 

Abruptly, Hanzo turned to face the door. He was out of his seat a moment later, pulling his bow from its place on the wall before Jesse thought to even ask. He heard nothing unusual, saw nothing. 

“Hanzo, what—”

“I don’t know. Wait here.”

Hanzo was already out the door, but if his hearing was so good he was picking up what Jesse _still_ couldn’t, surely he also heard Jesse’s, “Like hell.”

It wasn’t easy or painless, but he managed to put his weight on the foot again. He compromised and grabbed one of the crutches then staggered to his gun belt. He hobbled out the door in time to watch Hanzo launch an arrow. 

Hanzo’s lip curled back in a snarl. “I told you to wait.” He loosed another arrow. Jesse couldn’t see where they flew, but he heard the shouts of pain. 

“Night you found me, three of those men died to me. Not the wolf. I can handle myself.”

“They are here for _you_ ,” Hanzo snapped. “Go back inside.” He glanced at Jesse, and his eyes shone yellow in the dim light from the house. Jesse’d never seen human eyes do that. 

Figures broke into his line of sight then, close enough to count. Over a dozen, too many for two ordinary men to fight.

“Too many,” Hanzo said under his breath. “Please, Jesse. Inside.”

“Ain’t leavin’ you to clean up my mess.” 

They were running out of time to argue. One of those nasty darts flew past his head to sink into the side of the house. They were too far for much precision, but Jesse could see them well enough that Deadeye could do it. 

Beside him, Hanzo muttered in a tongue Jesse didn’t understand. The tattoo on his arm seemed to glow and pulse before the red deepened to the color of blood. There were enemies approaching, but suddenly Jesse could not look away from Hanzo. It was gruesome to watch, Hanzo’s body creaking and snapping as his limbs lengthened and changed shape. Claws erupted from his knuckles, and then the fur began to sprout. 

_Hanzo_ was the wolf who had saved him. The beast of the forest, hunter of wicked men. It was only Jesse’s frequent brushes with other types of magic that prevented him from panicking. Besides, there was no time for it. Their enemies were close now. 

Jesse readied his gun, shoving aside the clamor of thoughts — _wolf, Hanzo is the wolf, Hanzo who nursed you to health, but he told you he was no healer_ — and taking aim. 

Hanzo leapt with the gunshot, enormous body crashing into the nearest bandits. Those who fell instead to Jesse’s bullets were probably the lucky ones. 

The bandits seemed to come to the same conclusion. Jesse saw one of those darts barely miss the wolf before the huge furry body jerked with the impact of a bullet. 

Jesse didn’t know if it was Deadeye or his fury that colored his vision red, but he drew on its power anyway. The world slowed to a crawl, pain blooming behind his eye as he took the measure of the battlefield. 

The five nearest Hanzo and the man who’d shot the gun all fell as one. 

The wolf leapt from one to the next. It was a massacre. Fifteen against two, and they never made it as close as the garden. 

When the last bandit fell silent, the wolf turned to Jesse, who went as still as he could, gun hand trembling. He knew nothing about how this worked, whether Hanzo was still himself in there or if he was only the beast. Jesse held his breath as the wolf moved closer, its muzzle dark and wet with blood. 

Its steps wavered, then it staggered to the ground with a whimper. The bullet. 

Jesse moved warily as he closed the distance. He’d seen what Hanzo had done to able-bodied people, and Jesse was a good shot but he was hardly in peak condition. “Hanzo?” He kept his voice as soothing as he could. The wolf looked at him, eyes too intelligent for any canine. “I don’t know what to do here.” 

The wolf staggered to his feet and moved closer, favoring one side. He stumbled again a few feet from the door. 

Jesse reached out cautiously. The brown fur under his hand was so thick. He passed a hand along the top of Hanzo’s head and down until he found the blood spreading just behind his front leg. Fur and muscle rippled under his touch, but Hanzo held still while Jesse felt around it. 

“I can take it out, I think.” The wolf gave a snuffle. “Gotta get you inside though. You’re too big for me to carry.” 

Somehow Hanzo forced himself to his feet again. He held one paw high and leaned heavily against Jesse, who in turn had to brace himself carefully on his lone crutch. 

Hanzo huffed and whined, and once, he growled, a sound that made Jesse’s blood run cold. He suspected the head butt followed by the nuzzle was meant as an apology, and Hanzo didn’t growl again. But they could communicate, sort of. Hanzo would not let him extract the bullet. He did let Jesse wash the blood from his face, then he used his weight to herd Jesse back to the bedroom. 

“I don’t get to argue, do I?” Gold eyes looked up at him, nothing but innocence, and once Jesse lay down in his low bed, Hanzo moved in. 

It was terrifying to have that muzzle so close, nestled against his chest, but it was still Hanzo. 

Jesse fell asleep with thick fur in his hands and his legs going numb beneath the wolf’s weight. 

* * *

He woke with Hanzo — really, actually Hanzo — atop him, his head on Jesse’s chest. While Hanzo slept, Jesse petted a hand through his hair before he found his bare shoulder. Dried blood flaked under his hand, but he could find no wound. Instead he found a knot of scarred flesh where a bullet hole should have been. The bullet itself lay in the bed beside him. 

While Jesse puzzled over what sort of magic could be at work, Hanzo stirred. His body shifted, then he scrambled onto hands and knees, taking all his warm weight with him. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Jesse said, and Hanzo froze above him. “I don’t mind.” 

“You should.”

“I deal in magic items for a living. You’re not the first person I’ve met with some magical… affliction.” 

Hanzo laughed, dark and humorless. “It’s not an _affliction_. I chose the wolf spirits, just as they chose me.” 

“Then what—” 

“Fratricide.” The word cut Jesse off. “You asked what I did to deserve my penance. That is it. My aunt told me to murder my brother. I was weak enough to listen.” He bared his teeth. “It is not the _wolf_ who is the monster.”

Jesse searched for something that might get through. He knew self-loathing and self-defeat all too intimately, and he refused to see the man who’d rescued him — who he’d come to care about — succumb to it. 

“We both got things we regret. People we betrayed, shit to make up for.” Hanzo scoffed, unconvinced. “I don’t think you’d make the same choice now. And you’ve spent _years_ takin’ care of folks who need it.”

“You do not know me.”

“But I know what I’ve seen since I got here. And I know I want to know you.” There it was again. The glimpse of longing before Hanzo shuttered it all off. “And maybe it’s just wishful thinkin’, but I think you want the same thing.” Jesse pushed himself up until he was sitting. Hanzo froze. “You don’t have to be _alone_ to keep makin’ up for it. I won’t get in the way of you doin’ what you have to do.” He reached out, cautious, and he felt the prickle of Hanzo’s short beard beneath his fingers, felt when Hanzo began to lean into the touch before he stopped himself. “Please, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s eyes opened again, dark and full of so much aching _want_ that Jesse nearly gasped. “I don’t deserve—”

“You saved my life twice now. Three times if you count the poison. Your house is full of ways to count the people you’ve helped. I don’t give a damn what you deserve.” Hanzo scoffed, but Jesse could sense his resolve slowly crumbling. “But if you’re denyin’ yourself because of all the rest… sweetheart, you served your time.”

There was a beat where Jesse wondered if he had pushed too hard — presumed too much — before Hanzo crossed the space between them, lips soft but insistent. Both of Hanzo’s hands cupped Jesse’s face, pulling him off balance before tipping him back onto the pallet.

They didn’t emerge from the room until their hunger grew too great to bear. 

They split the time before Jesse’s full recovery between their usual chores, disposing of the evidence of their assailants, and kissing until Jesse’s mouth felt bruised. He still had things to do out there in the world; when the time came, he would invite Hanzo to join him, and he resolved to return swiftly if Hanzo could not. But for now, while he healed, he could savor the taste of Hanzo’s kisses on his tongue and feel at peace with all that had led him here. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out [the art that goes with this fic](https://twitter.com/RK_Zet/status/1201384646459764736), drawn by the very talented [Sifo](https://twitter.com/RK_Zet)!


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